


A happy ending for everyone

by JustDanny



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, F/M, Open Relationships, dragons eating horses offscreen because they're dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustDanny/pseuds/JustDanny
Summary: “That was—” Isabella nods. Gal’s eyes widen, his mind clearly reeling. He gulps, tries again cautiously. “But that wasn’t—” A second nod. “And they were—”“Yep.” And, she thinks involuntarily, we could probably learn a thing or two.Or, Richard isn't exactly living up to One True King standards; he's just waiting for his cakes to grow and enjoying the ride. Also, Galavant is definitely never again having a conversation like this.
Relationships: Galavant/Isabella (Galavant), Richard (Galavant)/Roberta Steingass
Kudos: 3





	A happy ending for everyone

They don’t visit often. Much as _Gary_ would never say it, the main reason for that is his quite healthy fear of a now grown up Tad Cooper. Turns out dragons can hold grudges much more effectively than most people, and the thing - now huge and more than a little blood-thirsty - has never exactly forgiven him for not believing in it years ago. As if it’d been his fault, being a normal person with normal expectations for a lizard’s growth.

The other reason, the one that has Isabella sort of forgetting most important dates and making appointments she can’t cancel at right about the same time they’re supposed to be visiting, is that they’re _weird_ . Well, Richard is weird. He’s awkward and dorky and almost adorable at times, but sharing space with him for more than a few hours at a time makes her nervous. And Roberta puts up with him happily, encourages her husband instead of being properly embarrassed by him. Which, you know, yay for them. There’s always a rip for a patch and all that, but it makes _her_ weird, too.

So they - Gal and Izzy - have reached a sort of agreement. An unspoken one, of course: it’d be terribly rude of them otherwise. They visit once every six months, together; Gal rides there more often, almost always along with Sid and still-scary Gareth, who come back home every so often to freshen up and rest before going back to their “saving Madalena” thing, whatever that is. Izzy’s not judging.

Today’s one of the dreaded biannual visits, with the extra problem that they’re coming _to stay_. It doesn’t worry her as much as it should, though: having her parents take care of little Juan Andrés de la Cruz Rosario for a few days is very well worth losing a little bit of her sanity. Not that she doesn’t love her son, her very loud six-month-old son, dearly. But, as her mother’s bluntly put it, a little alone time with Gal may finally allow them to start working on the other six: Isabella’s not getting any younger.

So, in any case, here they are. They’re a little early - they weren’t supposed to get here until tomorrow - but she doubts Richard will mind. For some obscure reason, the man absolutely _adores_ Galavant, in a way that’s downright creepy and quite reminiscent of how much he used to hate him. Truth be told, he’s more likely to end up killing Izzy’s husband now than he was before, just from his bumbling, consistently well-intentioned attempts to make him bond with his pet dragon.

Gal knocks twice on the wooden door, but there’s no answer. Richard is probably out walking Tad Cooper, but bearing in mind it’s almost lunchtime, Roberta should be somewhere inside. The cottage they’ve been living in is certainly not huge, and it’s a good step down from the king’s former castle, but it’s conceivable that the lady of the house may not hear them coming. Makes sense: she’s probably cooking, or cleaning, or doing any of the thousand little chores she most likely never thought she’d have to do, marrying a king. Isabella herself is still coming to terms with it, to be honest: if Gal complains about her cooking even once more, she’s more than ready to kill.

After waiting outside for a couple more minutes, hungry and tired as they are, they sort of decide they’ve got enough history with their hosts to let themselves in. Gal ties up the horses outside, well separated from the piles of manure and ashes that mark Tad Cooper’s usual dwelling points, while Izzy gets their sparse luggage in. She then proceeds to critically study the place: it’s been a while ever since she was last here, and she’s always liked Roberta’s - or, more likely, Richard’s - sense of _dècor._ Her own place could use a change of colour, or a couple of tapestries like the ones their friends have hanging on the walls.

She walks around aimlessly, not particularly caring to make much noise. Unless Roberta is playing with her sword again, like that one time, sneaking up on her isn’t likely to cause much damage. At most, it will result in a pan to the head, or some spilled wine. While the second outcome would be regrettable, Izzy’s head is more than capable of surviving a little bit of iron.

Her first instinct is to go to the kitchen, all the way at the other end of the house, but she gets distracted halfway in by a loud noise.

In retrospective, she should have probably gone back to the entrance to wait for Richard. Or, well, maybe just gone her merry way up to the kitchen to grab some bread and cheese for Gal and herself, as she intended. What she shouldn’t have done is, clearly, get nosy and tiptoe to the source of the noise. She shouldn’t have quietly opened the door - a barely invisible crack,, one neither of the two people inside noticed -; and she most assuredly shouldn’t have spent almost three minutes watching, eyes round and bright and mouth hanging open, as a surprisingly spry Roberta did things one can never talk about in polite society and had things done to her that Izzy herself would very much rather try.

Shit.

By the time she’s more or less in control of her own body again, her absence and Roberta’s very non-discrete cries have attracted Gal’s attention. Instinctively, she tries to close the door before he too can peak in, but she’s too slow. The best she can do is muffle her husband’s indignant growl and prevent him from speaking until they’re both outside the house. Only then does she dare take her hand off his mouth, and she’s rewarded with a disconcerted expression and several attempts at forming coherent sentences, which only half-succeed. 

“That was—” She nods. Gal’s eyes widen, his mind clearly reeling. He gulps, tries again cautiously. “But that wasn’t—” A second nod. “And they were—”

“Yep.” And, she thinks involuntarily, we could probably learn a thing or two.

She sits down on the scorched grass, followed by her husband. He’s still looking at her in awe, but it’s a changing thing: at moments it turns into rage, then amazement, then a little bit of arousal. She can relate.

“So,” he asks, “what do we do?”

Izzy would like to tell him ‘nothing’. It’s none of their business, after all, and they shouldn’t even be here in the first place. But she shrugs, because - she admits begrudgingly - they’re _friends_. Sort of. Weird friends, friends she’d rather not have, but still.

“Okay.” Gal stands, adopting his hero pose, and at that very moment Izzy pales, because she can see his train of thought as clear as if it were hers, and it’s bound to end in disaster. “I’m gonna tell Richard. He deserves to know.”

She shakes her head quickly, a thousand possible - terrible - outcomes flooding her head. “Don’t”, she says. He looks slightly surprised. Almost disappointed. “I mean, let me talk to her first, alright? Before—”

Because, really, what if she’s cheating? Who wouldn’t, to be honest? It’s even crossed her mind a few times, and she’s married to a stud of a man, not - Richard. And, in any case, she reasons, it won’t hurt him if he doesn’t know. That’s how it was with Madalena, she reminds her husband.

“He deserves to know,” is Gal’s unbudging answer. Sighing, she gathers her courage to speak again.

“And then, what? They break up, she’s got this—” A bunch of not-so-terrible nouns cross her mind, and a live-motion painting of what was going on behind closed doors almost gets her off track. “But he doesn’t have anyone, Gal. Not even Gareth. What would he do? Where could he go?”

A terrible future in which Richard decides to camp on his best pal Galavant’s house takes hold of her: she shivers. Her husband is most likely thinking the same thing, because he finally acquiesces. 

“Alright,” he says. “Talk to her. And then, I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”

One thing is for sure: they’re not making any more children while they’re here.

***

Richard finds the both of them still slumped on the floor; it very obviously takes Gal every ounce of willpower he has not to break down and tell the guy everything at that very moment. Damn it: he can really be a softie.

The king’s face lights up when he spots them: he beams, almost skipping the last few paces up to them, followed closely by an even more huge Tad Cooper than the one Izzy remembers. The creature doesn’t seem to share its owner’s affection for their visitors: there’s something downright evil in its glare, and she’s pretty sure it would have already fried them both if not for Richard’s presence there.

Huh. A magic sword and a dragon. If the man were actually competent or even slightly ambitious, he could have already put an end to that whole ‘democracy’ nonsense that has sprung up in his former kingdom. Izzy knows _she_ would have done that. Not that Richard has shown even the smallest inclination to try and go get something larger, better, than the cottage he’s got here. In fact, he seems quite content living here. Go figure.

After the requisite round of too tight hugs, excited chatter, and what Richard has always assured her are not tears, but something getting stuck in his eye, they are unceremoniously rushed in. Right before closing the door, the older man takes a last look outside. 

“Now, be nice, Tad Cooper,” he says almost sternly. “Ah! And do _not_ eat the horses. Again.”

Not that Isabella has long to ponder on the convenience of keeping her mare literally anywhere else in the Seven Realms, though. Because, as soon as the door is closed, a familiar figure comes towards them from the kitchen. Well, _two_ familiar figures, to be exact.

Izzy can feel her blush spreading over her cheeks. She senses Gal opening his mouth before she even gets to see it, and can already guess the words he’s about to say. She nudges him; when that doesn’t work, she stomps on his feet. Hard.

“Hey, guys!” Roberta is the face of innocence. She welcomes them in with a smile before going straight at Richard and planting a quick kiss on his lips. Much to her chagrin, Isabella’s insides twitch; more so when the man that came in after the lady of the house, looking nervous and out of place, makes an attempt to wave at them, too.

“Oh, hi, Steven! I thought you’d already left.” Richard’s greeting is, as always, far too trusting and happy. Sometimes, Izzy finds it hard to believe she was ever afraid of him.

To his credit, Steven does look mildly flustered. He’s a good-looking fellow, she’ll give him that: he’s tall and well-shaped, with broad shoulders and, as she’s had the shock to see, a better-than-average ass. Also, he’s got a nice face, and he’s young - can’t be older than twenty-five. Which, alright, is positively _ancient_ for a serf. Still, he does look young and well-kept and attractive. Also, guilty as hell. He practically scampers off once he gets the chance.

“You know, Bobby, I thought he’d have been gone by now,” Richard muses. His wife shrugs.

“He had some things to do. It took him longer than usual to help me out here.”

Izzy bites back a snarky remark. Roberta is her friend, too; also, she has never killed anyone she knows, which she supposes places her higher on the friend ranking than Richard. But it still takes the princess a couple of seconds to get her bearings, keep herself from spouting out everything she’s seen not even an hour ago.

“You know: next time, he should stay for lunch.”

A warm smile spreads over Roberta’s lips at her husband’s words. She shakes her head. “I doubt he’d like that very much.”

Ah, shit. That last part is almost too much: Izzy is even tempted to let Gal intervene, but common sense kicks in at the last moment. Breathing in and out until she’s calmed down, she allows herself just one comment, muttered in such a way that Gal’s the only one to hear.

“She’s such a _Madalena_!”

Lunch is pleasant enough, with Richard carrying off most of the conversation on his own. Izzy studies the couple surreptitiously all through it: to the unsuspecting, they’d look like the perfect, loving marriage. Roberta keeps her husband from straying too much, with a warm, nice resignation the princess would have pitied on any other occasion.

“So, how’s Juan?” The question, posed during one of the rare moments Richard’s rambling is interrupted - mostly by food being pointed out to him -, brings Isabella back to reality. She quickly scrambles up a smile, forces herself to think only of the infinite joy her brethren has brought them, leaving out the also infinite lack of sleep and the abundance of bodily fluids in their house.

“Oh, he’s great. My parents were dying to have him over for a couple of days, though, so I’m afraid you’ll have to meet him next time.” She’s most definitely not lying: her parents wanted, or at least didn’t absolutely hate, the idea of taking care of their grandson for a while.

“I keep telling Bobby we should have one,” Richard pipes in. “She’d be a great mom. Also, I could teach him to fit his fist into—”

Roberta flushes, shakes her head. “We’ve got Tad Cooper. More than enough for me, you know.”

Things are mostly quiet after lunch. Richard takes them to a room - the one opposite to his own, he says; Izzy can’t help but picture the scene from before as she sees the closed door. They get time to unpack and rest a bit. Sid and Gareth are supposed to arrive at some point between the time the sun’s last shadow is cast upon the earth and eleven o’clock. 

Once they are alone, it takes them a while to breach the topic again. Still, it’s plain on Gal’s face that he’s dying to: he just doesn’t know how. So Isabella helps him.

“She’s a skank,” she mutters. Her husband looks up at her, slightly scandalized. “A lovely skank, don’t get me wrong — she’s still my friend, I guess. But still a skank.”

“Yeah. Did you see how she kept touching him? Like, I don’t know, lady. Please, Isabella: promise me, if you ever take a lover, you’ll at least _be obvious_ about it, so I can kill him.”

Privately, Izzy’s pretty sure that, if she were to ever cheat on Gal, the guy in question would not be easily killable. I mean, what’s the point of getting a different man if it’s not going to be an upgrade?

“Alright. Maybe you’ll have to tell him. I don’t know,” she stops him before he can get all excited about it. “Just, let me talk to her. Tomorrow. And, for the love of all that’s holy: do _not_ let Gareth hear about it.”

***

So, of course, Gal tells Gareth. 

He’s really, really not planning to. He isn’t even planning on staying up late enough to welcome the last two visitors, to be honest. For the first time in six months he’s going to be able to sleep with only Isabella’s snoring - her lovely snoring - to keep him company. It is something he intends to get the best out of, and he’d already be in bed dreaming about sleeping for twelve hours straight were it not for Richard.

He feels sorry for the man, he truly does. The last few years have been rough: he’s traded his kingdom and his comfortable life for a cottage in the middle of nowhere and a frigging _dragon_ he is pretty sure hates him. And now Roberta - whom Gal sort of pushed into pursuing Richard, and him her - is cheating on him. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the never spoken but quite frightening possibility that Rich would end up just moving in with him and Izzy, Galavant would have already told him everything he’s seen.

As it is, he can at least have a few drinks with the man while they wait for his former squire/killer to arrive.

Richard’s almost too drunk to stand by the time the other two make it. The women have both gone to bed - Roberta claimed she was exhausted; for a second Gal debated whether to say something just loud enough for her to hear and know he knows. So that leaves only the two of them, and the king’s clearly not better at handling alcohol than he was when they first met. Still, he lights up when he hears noise at the door, and only Gal’s quick reflexes prevent him from moving from his seat and ending up a sad heap on the floor.

“I’ll get it,” the ex-knight tells his host; Richard nods and smiles, wide and happy. So stupidly annoying, and sort of endearing; Gal feels a tight knot in his stomach and tries to will it out. It’s the same feeling that’s kept him visiting even well after the need for it was gone, the one that’s made him keep swords out of this dumbass’s face when, really, the only _sane_ thing would’ve been to let him get himself killed. Sighing, he moves up to the front door, barely even stumbling on his way, and opens up to see a heavily armed Gareth get down from a horse that probably sees being eaten by Tad Cooper as the best thing it’s happened to it in a while.

“Gal! Nice to see you!” Sid’s cheerful greeting is cut short by Gareth’s growls.

“Keep it down, will ya?”

They haven’t changed that much in the last two or three months. Gareth’s frown seems to have grown deeper, and Sid’s hair is worryingly long. If he asked, Gal would tell him to cut it short, especially now that he’s apparently fighting his way through half the world. Long hair can be deadly if an enemy grabs it; it’s better not to take any chances.

Of course, it’s been a very long time since Sid has last asked him for advice.

“Gare-bear!” To be honest, Richard’s greeting is both louder and more effusive than Sid’s, with a couple of back-breaking hugs that have Gal’s former squire look up at him in search of help. Still, Gareth says nothing to the king about it and stoically holds himself together for what has to be at least a minute and a half of mushy, drunken feelings, hugging and tearful I missed yous before stepping aside and grumbling.

“Yeah, good to see ya, too.”

They’ve still got a weird thing going on, those two. Richard’s slightly unfocused gaze glues itself to Gareth, who in turn watches him intently, as if trying to find any flaw, a trace of a bruise or a wound or even just a scratch. Once he’s apparently satisfied with the results of his exhaustive study, the huge bulk of a man allows himself to turn his attention towards the alcohol and to a not-quite-happy-but-pretending-to-be Sid. Still grumbling, Gareth shrugs and pours himself a glass he drinks up in one gulp.

They talk softly, with the newcomers telling them half made-up tales about their adventures - they have to be, though Sid keeps swearing they’re absolutely true. Richard updates them on Tad Cooper’s growth and prowess, but expertly avoids answering any question about retaking his kingdom or, you know, doing absolutely _anything_ about the whole One True King thing by promptly falling asleep. As for Gal, he mainly talks about babies and exhaustion and his recurring nightmares in which an evil wizard turns little Juan into seven little Juanes, but after Rich starts snoring he can resist it no more.

So, of course, he tells Gareth.

“First, you’ve got to promise not to kill anyone,” he pleads. It comes out slightly slurred, but intelligible enough. Gareth nods.

“Yet,” he adds rather unhelpfully. Still, Galavant is pretty sure he’s going to explode from sheer alcohol-fueled rage if he doesn’t tell anyone.

“Okay. Well, look: Izzy and I got here way early. And we found—”

What follows is a rather graphic description, one that has Sid grimacing and Gareth growing alternatively impressed and furious. Not that Gal had the chance to peek for long, but what he saw has been quite instructive.

“I’m going to kill her.” Sid’s hand stops the bulkier man from even standing; the squire then gazes questioningly at Gal.

“Are you sure—?”

“Pretty sure. I even met the guy. Steven, I think. Seemed nice, you know, other than—”

“I’m going to kill him too,” Gareth continues. “Strangle’ im with his own intestines.”

It takes much pleading and some bribing - in the form of a whole bottle of wine - for all of them to calm down enough to reach a compromise.

“So, agreed: no killing _until_ we’ve talked to him.” Gal is pretty sure he can smuggle Roberta somewhere safe, if push comes to shove. He’d still prefer not to have to, though: Gareth’s not a man one wants as an enemy.

“Alright. I’ll kill her tomorrow,” is all the man is willing to accept. Both Gal and Sid shrug, looking at each other. It’s the best they’re gonna get.

***

The morning starts off peacefully enough. Izzy wakes up late, leaves Gal practically passed out on the other side of the bed and drags her feet up to the kitchen. She feels weird, almost happy: it’s the first night she’s slept all through in what feels like ages. No cries, no fussing, no arguing with her husband about whose turn it is (it’s almost always his). It could very well be that she’s died and gone to Paradise, but for the fact that Gal smells slightly of alcohol and vomit.

Roberta is already in the kitchen, a bowl of porridge in front of her as she peruses _The Daily Plague_. She points Izzy to the fireplace without even looking up to her: there’s fresh milk warming up next to it, and what looks like a cake set on top of the now extinguished place. 

“Looks delicious,” she admits, cutting off a huge chunk of it and setting it on a plate before getting herself a glass of lukewarm milk.

“Thanks. I didn’t make it, though.” Finally, Roberta decides she’s had enough reading for the day, and so she sets the newspaper down and looks up at Izzy with a friendly smile. “So, did you sleep well? You looked tired.”

“Yeah. You know, I love my kid, I do. I just wish he’d come with a muffling spell.” Taking a bite off the cake, she can’t help but let out a pleased groan. “This is really good. Where do you even get this stuff?”

Roberta shrugs. “We’ve got a dragon.”

They finish their breakfast quietly, Bobby inquiring here and there about little Juan Andrés de la Cruz Rosario, Izzy mostly detailing the nice things about being a new mom.

Sid is the first of the men to show up. He hugs Isabella pretty tightly and tells them about their latest adventures.

“We fought a troll,” he’s telling them when the others begin to drop by. “I mean, Gareth did, but I managed to distract it long enough by engaging him in pointless discussions so that he could stab it with his sword. Not that it ever got past the stage of ‘thy lifegiver’ jokes.”

Right about then, Gareth shows up in the kitchen, where an enraptured Richard and a slightly nauseous Gal have already taken a seat. Something in the air seems to shift, turning everything a bit darker. Luckily, both Gal and Sid quickly notice the change, and they haven’t yet lost their ability to work together when the need arises.

“Say, Rich, do you think you can show us around for a bit? I mean, there’s quite a big patch of land you’ve got here. There’s probably something interesting somewhere around, right?”

Swallowing his last mouthful of cake, the king is quick to agree. He smiles and kisses his wife on the cheek, completely missing Gareth’s growl at the sight, before grabbing his best friend’s arm and dragging him towards the main door.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this! I’ve been planting all sorts of stuff! I think my pigs are about to sprout, Gare!”

Once the four men are out, Roberta calmly takes the empty plates and glasses and puts them on a neat pile. Then, equally calmly, she turns to Izzy.

“Alright,” she says. “What’s going on?”

Isabella has never been great at deep, friendly talks. She’s grown up an only child in a palace; she doesn’t have many friends she can’t at least order around if she feels like it. Also, she’s a bit scared of Gareth to this day, and not sure anymore any of this is a good idea. So she stalls.

“Why? Do you think something’s going on?” She can feel a cold sweat drenching her face. Suffice to say, she’s nervous. She sort of likes Roberta.

“Well, I’m not stupid. For one, Gareth was looking at me with murder in his eyes. More than usual, I mean,” the older woman states, raising a finger. “Then, there’s Sid. I know we’re not _friends_ , but he’s usually a bit more subtle at ignoring me.” Another two fingers come up. “And last, there’s the two of you. Not that you’re doing anything weird, but you’ve been staring. And I’m getting worried. Did I do something wrong?”

Suddenly, yesterday’s righteous fury - tinted perhaps with a bit of envy, because that Steven seemed to know what he was doing - comes back to Izzy with a vengeance. Not even a second piece of cake would be enough to cool her off now, she thinks, because Roberta’s looking stupidly innocent and open and earnest when she’s been doing, well, _marital stuff_ with a man that’s definitely not her husband. With a huff, Izzy stands and pokes at her with her finger.

“We saw you. Yesterday.” For about a minute, the other woman just stares. Then, she nods, and for the very first time Izzy can sort of understand why she married Richard.

“Yes. I know. I made you lunch, remember?”

It takes Izzy’s exasperated groan and at least another thirty seconds for Roberta’s eyes to widen, her mouth twisting rapidly in search of words that would excuse her or explain away what she’s just realized.

“Oh,” is what she settles for, at last. “I get it now.”

There’s more embarrassment than panic in her voice, though, and not even an adequate amount of it. It sort of pikes Izzy’s curiosity: Roberta doesn’t seem even remotely sorry.

“Yeah. So, anything to say in your defense before Gareth tears you to pieces?”

At that, for the first time, a real reaction is shown. Bobby shakes her head, looks at her pleadingly, and lets out something close to a shriek.

“You’ve told _him_?” It does make Izzy feel slightly guilty, even if it wasn’t her.

“No, I— I told Gal I’d talk to you before, but I guess he couldn’t wait.”

“You told Galavant?” The levels of panic are rising indeed. To be honest, she has a right to feel threatened: Gal would probably never hurt her, but it’s more than likely that he’ll help Gareth carry her corpse out of the house. 

“I didn’t! He saw you, too!,” is all lIzzy can say to that. It seems to calm Roberta down a little, though she’s still wary. “And in any case, shouldn’t you be more worried about Richard, _the man you’re cheating on_ , finding out?”

The older woman’s frown creases, and she shakes her head.

“I’m not cheating on him, Izzy.”

Oh. That’s a good one.

“So, how would you call doing, well, _marital stuff_ with that other man, huh?,” she whispers, slightly embarrassed herself. Roberta’s eyes narrow.

“You mean having sex, right? Because I’m certainly not picking out curtain drapes with Steven. Also, still not cheating, and it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

She says all of that in one long, deep breath, and not for the first time in her life Isabella regrets ever leaving cousin Harry’s dollhouse. At least a childish stubbornness and an astounding ability to deny the obvious makes sense in a child. In a grown-up woman, though, it’s just sad.

“Look, I’m sure you have your reasons.” And, if someone had told her a couple years ago that she’d end up defending the king who’d threatened to kill her parents, she would’ve laughed in their faces before setting them on fire. “But you’re hurting a wonderful— A good— A man— You’re hurting Richard,” she concludes, and looks up at the other woman. “How do you think he’ll feel when he finds out you’ve been chea— _having sex_ with another man?”

The only thing that gets out of Roberta is a look of supreme annoyance.

“He already knows,” she deadpans. Izzy lets out a surprised squeak. “In fact, it was _his_ idea.”

***

Thinking it through, Richard is the closest Gal has ever had to real practice with little kids. He’s moody and bratty and so easily excited that distracting him isn’t even a challenge anymore.

He’s pretty proud of his lands too. He tells them he’s been planting ‘stuff’ here and there, even though nobody has bothered to tell him he’s supposed to prepare the soil first. As it is, the One True King takes them on a warping, random path only he can see, stopping every few paces to point at sad, pathetic little stumps he assures them will be soon ripe enough to eat.

“Being a farmer is surely a lot of work, but I’m beginning to get the hang of it. In a few months I’ll be sending you all some of my breadsticks. I’m pretty sure they’re bound to sprout sometime around winter.”

The worst thing, in Gal’s mind, is that none of the other three even dare contradict him. They’re all probably picturing his absolutely devastated face at the thought of his goats not blooming. 

Even for Gareth, it takes almost a full hour before he gathers up the strength to ask. “How are ya even feeding yerselves, huh?”

The question doesn’t exactly throw Richard off; he shrugs it in his usual manner, cleaning up his hands on his pants after looking closely at a clearly dying cactus.

“Oh, you know, I’ve got a dragon,” he says, and Gal is much too afraid to ask.

Sid is very obviously not.

“So what? Do you eat dragon eggs?”

At that, Richard huffs indignantly.

“Of course not! And Tad Cooper is a boy dragon, thank you very much. He’s not a hen.” Gal takes it upon himself to nod reassuringly, calming the king down enough to keep him talking. “So, to answer your question, people get real nice when you’ve got a dragon. They’re giving us a lot of food and other stuff just so we won’t have to go down to the market. Which is just as well: it’s a long way, and Tad Cooper doesn’t much like it. He gets roadsick and sort of moody, you know.” A perfectly innocent smile crowns his explanation, and not for the first time Gal wonders if the man is not actually an evil genius. Nobody can be this obtuse in real life.

Once the subject of Richard’s livelihood is done, though, there is not much Gal can do to prevent Gareth’s broaching of the _other_ one. He’s sort of already regretting having mentioned it to the burly man; he just hopes Isabella can find a way to get Roberta out in one piece. After the way the former guard has stared at her this morning, he seriously doubts things will wrap up neatly with just a stern talking-to and a few thrown plates.

To his credit, Gareth has the decency to wait until the tour is almost over and they’ve stopped at a clearing that looks suspiciously like the result of one of Tad Cooper’s burping fits. Dragons can apparently, according to Richard, have gas.

When it comes to it, the sultry man’s approach to the subject feels more like a full-front attack than a concerned friend’s intervention. He stands after about a minute of waiting around on the scorched grass for his friend to finish his rambling and jabs a finger so hard at Richard’s chest that the king actually falls backwards from where he’s sitting.

“Yer wife’s cheating on ya, Richard,” he declares somberly. Next to Gal, Sid facepalms.

“Ouch! That hurt, Gare! You shouldn’t go around stabbing at people with your fingers!” Huffing, Richard manages to stumble back onto his feet, dusting out his clothes as well as he can, which isn’t much. 

After that, Gal holds his breath, waiting for the moment Gareth’s words will break into Richard’s thick skull. He braces himself for all kinds of reactions, from crying to screaming to having Tad Cooper take care of things. He even remembers Richard’s defeated look when he found out about Gareth taking his crown and prepares himself for something similar; but nothing happens.

Instead, in what is clearly the worst attempt at selective deafness in history, Richard goes back to beaming and suggests they go back home and get some pie.

“You know, there’s this woman down three villages over; she’s got to be half-fairy or something.” That’s the moment Gareth chooses to hit him on the head. Hard.

“Should’ve seen that one coming,” Gal hears Sid mutter under his breath, his voice barely audible over Richard’s wailing and protests.

“That was uncalled for, Gare! I’ve—”

“Now, listen to me, Richard: yer wife, _that_ wife, is cheating on ya, too. Just like the other one was. So, either you do sumthing about it, or I do, ya hear me?”

He sounds _furious_. Which, honestly, isn’t all that surprising: the best mood Gal has ever seen him in is mildly pissed.

Still, the threat seems to work, because Richard shuts up and gulps, looking at him with his big blue eyes all round and vulnerable. Gal groans.

“Alright, Gare. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for this.”

“I _saw_ her, Richard.” Galavant decides it’s right about time to intervene, before Gareth’s angry blush has him fuming through the nose and ears.

“Well, it must have been a mistake,” Richard flat-out declares. “Now, I suggest we go back to—”

“Are ya calling ‘im a liar?”

At that, Richard’s gaze nervously flickers, sliding over the three other men without daring to engage any of them. Gal has a sudden impulse to go and hug him and tell him it’s fine. That’s probably the moment he discovers he’s going to be a very soft dad.

“Of course not, Gal; I’m not saying that. I just, I mean, maybe you thought you saw something—”

Galavant has had enough.

“She was with that man, Steven. They were naked, Richard, and he was on top of her, and I swear they were doing things I haven’t even done with Madalena.”

“Of course you haven’t,” he thinks he hears Sid mutter somewhere. His attention, though, is on Richard, whose face is scrunching up in disgust.

“Do we really have to hear the details?”

“Alright, listen up. Ya take care of yer wife: Galavant and I will go kill that other sonofa—”

“There’s— probably no need to kill anyone yet, Gare-bear,” comes Richard’s surprisingly firm protest. “Especially Steven. He makes a real good cake.”

“For fock’s sake, yer a king! And he’s porking yer wife!”  
“Well, yeah, we already stated that.”

It takes Galavant a moment to realize that Richard is trembling, shaking slightly and stepping back as if trying to run away from them. With a sigh and a prayer to whatever deity may be listening, he reaches out to keep Gareth from stepping forward and crowding over his friend even more. Richard lets out a relieved sigh.

Gareth, on the other hand, isn’t all too happy with how things are turning up. 

“I’ve told ya a thousand times, ya dumb oaf! Man up, will ya? Yer s’posed to be a king, not a damn damsel in distress!” Wisely, Galavant keeps his thoughts on that particular subject to himself. Through the corner of his eyes, he sees Sid open his mouth, and shoots him what he hopes will be a strong enough telepathic warning. “Yer letting them laugh at you on your silly stupid face, and know what? They find out they can, suddenly everyone will be doing it. And it’ll be just like Valencia all over again!”

Richard lets out a breath, as if trying to gather his bearings, and puts forth a small smile. “Well, that didn’t turn out all that bad, now, did it?”

For a moment nobody speaks. Then Sid explodes. “Are you kidding? You lost your kingdom!”

“Two kingdoms!”

“And your wife.”

“And yer damn crown.”

“And you almost died. Repeatedly.”

“Also, _I_ died.”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Richard’s very obviously starting to panic, his eyes even rounder than usual; he holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ll talk to them, alright? You don’t have to worry about anything, Gare. I’ll handle it.”

He sounds almost convincing. None of them are fooled.

“Yer just gonna let her keep doing that, innit?” Gareth’s tone is equal parts resigned and disappointed, and it makes Richard almost curl up, looking up as he is at the burly man. “Yer gonna be— ya, I get it. Like ya did with Madalena; only she at least had the decency to be _evil_.”

“Hey! Bobby is _nothing_ like Madalena.”

Which, in Gal’s view, makes all of this so much worse. Being horny and self-serving has always been his ex’s schtick. But Roberta’s caring and loyal, and Richard has also managed to fuck it up with her. It’s honestly quite a feat: one would have thought they’d live happily ever after, particularly since she’d already seen him stick his damn fist into his mouth and apparently decided he was still husband material.

“Okay, guys.” Gal is barely conscious of the exhaustion creeping up in his own voice. “Let’s leave it here. It’s Richard’s decision; I just thought he needed to know.” Just so he’s ready when Roberta packs up to go live somewhere Richard-free, he thinks.

He’s so focused on his own thoughts, on trying to keep Gareth from punching a couple of trees down in frustration, that he almost misses Richard’s very small, very soft whisper.

“Ialreadyknew.”

“What?” It must be that his brain is more attuned to babies’ wails right now, because it takes him a while to actually understand the older man’s words.

“I, I mean,” Richard swallows, his gaze directed at _anywhere_ but them. “I’m saying, I already knew. About Bobby.”

“In fact,” he adds after a second or two of half incredulous, half incredibly pissed stares, “it might have been my idea?”

***

“What? How? Why would he even—?” It feels like Izzy’s brain has turned into putty. It probably has something to do with the last months’ lack of sleep, the long ride here, and the fact that her friends are definitely insane.

Drawing a deep breath, Roberta gestures for her to sit down, and her self-preservation instincts have her doing exactly that. She then proceeds to look expectantly at the older woman, who seems to be gathering her thoughts.

“Alright, so— I guess I’ll start at the beginning. I love Richard, and he definitely loves me. There’s no question there, okay?” She is apparently expecting an answer from Izzy, who is still too shocked to do much more than nod. “It’s just, we don’t have sex.”

That elicits a reaction. Isabella makes a sympathetic noise and winces.

“You mean, you don’t—?”

Roberta nods soberly. “Ever. It’s not a problem, now. It’s just, he doesn’t like it.”

Instinctively, Isabella’s mind goes back to that first kiss she shared with Gal about three years ago. Making a face, she shrugs.

“Is it that awful?” A candle lights up inside her brain. “Or, you know: is it because you’re a woman? I’m not judging here; to be honest, I always thought he was—”

Roberta cracks up at that, a small smile spreading on her lips. “No, and most definitely no. I thought so at first. I even took him to the Enchanted Forest a couple of times. He loves it there, but, you know, not for the usual reasons a man would enjoy it,” she explains. “It’s just, he doesn’t like it. Sex, I mean.”

“But you’re— You’ve _done it_ before, right?” Isabella scrunches up her nose, lowers her voice. “I distinctly remember Gal telling me you sang about it. And, well, both of you were pretty into each other, so I just assumed—”

She doesn’t know how to finish that thought. She’s never had that problem: Gal _really_ enjoys doing his marital duties with her. Twice or thrice a day most of the time, and in different places and positions, and there was that one time—

“Well, we tried. And he— was pretty excited about it, but really—” Bobby sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “I mean, he _cried_ during our first time, and I thought it was just, I don’t know. Nerves. He’d never even _been_ with a woman, or a man, before.”

“Yes, I heard that.”

“So, first time was a disaster, but what do you know - _my_ own first time had been, too. And I told him, hey, it’s fine: we’ll try again. And he was wonderful about it, even though I know now he was kind of freaking out, there was just _so much pressure_.”

“Pressure?”

“Well, yeah. A middle-aged king, and a virgin? And he didn’t even have his ‘I respect her’ excuse here. I was more than willing. So, we tried a couple more times, and I thought he’d liked it. I certainly did. But then, after a while, I just— I caught him drinking. Like, a lot. To get ready for it, and— He’s sort of easy to crack. He told me about it; that was when I thought he was, well, into men. It’d have made sense, you see, with Gareth. But it’s not that.”

Izzy’s mouth is sort of just hanging open, her eyes blinking rapidly of their own volition. It’s probably time for her to say something, but it’s not like she can find anything to tell her friend. So she just watches as Roberta opens up a bottle of wine and pours two glasses and drinks up hers before stuttering.

“Wow. I’m sorry. That must—”

“Oh, don’t be” We’re fine with it. More than fine, honestly: you can ask him about it; it’s not exactly a secret. Anyway, do you even know how long I’d been in love with him before we met again? And it’s not like he won’t have sex with me if I ask him. It’s just, I’d rather he doesn’t have to. And in any case then we met Michael, and he was pretty good-looking, and discreet, so Richard told me, ‘well, there’s a solution’.”

Izzy’s face scrunches up questioningly. “Michael? I thought it was Steven.”

Roberta blushes. “Well, he had to leave, and— You see, I _do_ like sex. Like, a lot. And, I don’t know how much you saw, but Steven is quite good at it. Though I think he may be letting himself get a bit carried away. He’s starting to freak me out.”

Blushing, Isabella decides she can agree at least with some of that statement. One can learn a lot of things in three minutes.

With one last swig from her glass of wine, Roberta stands, a grim expression set on her face. “I’m going to see what they’re up to,” she tells Izzy. “Do some damage control. I somehow doubt their conversation is going as well as this one is, and Richard has been really nervous about telling Gareth for a while now. Not that I can blame him, honestly.”

Izzy lets out a sigh and stands too. “I’ll go with you. Try to calm everyone down before they decide to kill you. And Steven.”

“Poor Steven,” the older woman agrees. “You know, he’s a really sweet guy, though he can get really annoying.”

Just like your husband, is what comes to Isabella’s mind, even though she’s not sure if she’s ready to call Richard ‘sweet’ yet.

Right before they leave the house in search of the men, the princess grabs what’s left of the bottle of wine. You never know when you’re going to need it.

***

“So, let me get this straight.” Gal is pretty sure that Richard isn’t going to elaborate, no matter how many times Sid asks him. “Your wife is sleeping with another man, and it was _your_ idea? Are you really that bad at it, or is it just some weird kink that you have?”

As before, Richard’s answer is just a sort of vulnerable-looking shrug and a panicked smile. He’s not even looking at Sid: his whole attention is focused on Gareth, who has very obviously broken down. Whatever dark spell was animating his soul is malfunctioning: the burly man has been staring for a full five minutes, nothing but the slightly disjointed eyes betraying his shock.

“Gare-bear? Are you—?” At this point, Gal is even starting to question he’s alive.

He should have listened to Isabella. This whole thing is just too weird even for Richard, and it’s none of his damn business. He’s learned his lesson: he’s never again meddling in their friends’ sex lives, or even acknowledging they exist. 

A sudden noise of rustling leaves at their back has him turning quickly - well, quickly for a hungover new dad. Luckily it is not Tad Cooper or any bandit stupid enough to become Tad Cooper’s lunch; just the two women they left at the house, and a bottle of wine.

He grabs for the alcohol first.

“Nuh-huh.” Isabella is clutching at the bottle as if it were a much cleaner Juan Andrés de la Cruz Rosario. She keeps it out of his reach despite his grumbling protests and points to Gareth with her head. “What happened there?”

He shrugs. “I think Richard broke him.”

The peace doesn’t last for long, though. At the sight of the newcomers, Gareth’s body suddenly comes back to life. As if continuing a motion he’d been stopped from completing, he launches himself at Richard, fisting his shirt and - Gal could swear - even raising him a little bit off the ground.

“What the hell are ya doing, Richard?” He’s growling, looks almost as furious as the day he threw his friend in the dungeon, and Gal can sort of imagine what he’s thinking. Only he doesn’t have to, because, really, they’re all pretty crappy at having layers and inner lives. He can probably consider himself lucky that Gareth isn’t singing about his feelings right now.

“I leave ya here for what, months?, and yer back to being a wimp, and ya know what? There’s no one here now to save yer sorry ass. I’m not letting ya get killed because ya can’t man up and say ‘no’ for once in yer life!”

His screaming is quite good, though. It’d be quite a powerful scene, were it not for Roberta poking him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. Do you mind letting my husband down? Thank you.”

The bulk of a man pauses for about a second, finally realizing he is, indeed, sort of throttling Richard. Not much, though: the king doesn’t even seem that shaken when he’s put back down on his feet.

“Hey, Bobby! I was just telling them about the pie!”

She smiles back at him only to lock gazes with Gareth almost immediately. Being much more used than either of them to spending time with the former guard, Sid gestures for Gal and Izzy to take a few steps back, maybe run away with the wine.

“I don’t know what yer doing, or why, but it’s—”

“None of your business,” Roberta retorts. Richard may not be the only one who needs a bodyguard. “Any of yours,” she adds, pointedly looking at Isabella.

For a second nobody speaks. It’s as if the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for those two to either kill each other or, with any luck, just punch the other until Gal intervenes. The knight can sort of see the strain in the former guard’s gaze, the guilt and the worry as his eyes dart for a second towards a beaming Richard before focusing on Roberta once more. 

“If ya so much as hurt one hair out of his head, I’ll kill ya.” Gareth’s voice is low and threatening as usual, and even though the woman facing him does seem to shake slightly, she doesn’t buckle.

“I’ll bear it in mind. Now—”

“Good! Now that everyone’s back to normal _and_ we’re not talking icky things anymore, who’s up for some pie?”

For maybe the first time in his life, and only after everybody has seemingly agreed to be civil again and the topic’s been dropped, Galavant realizes Richard hasn’t even had to shout. He’s made do with a smile and something that, he notices, has only _sounded_ like a proposal, but has in fact been an order. And they’ve all obeyed.

It sends a sudden shiver down his spine.

***

To be fair, the pie is pretty good. Much better than the ones Isabella makes back at home, to be sure; not that he’d dare tell her right now. She’s been kind of touchy on that subject.

The wine is also helping relax everyone a little bit. There is still no love lost between Gareth and Roberta - not that there’s ever been any -, and Gal’s sure he himself looks a bit freaked out. Still, it is the closest to peace they’re going to get, and not that different from any other family reunion he’s ever been to.

It is way past lunchtime when, with a studiously indifferent tone, Isabella mentions _it_ again. 

“So, how does it work?”

Gal is pretty sure that comment is going to throw everyone back into fight of flight mode, but once again he’s apparently underestimated the absurdity of the world he lives in.

“I don’t know, it’s pie. You just take the thingy and put the other thingy inside and—”

“I don’t think Isabella is talking about pie, Richard.” At his wife’s words, the king’s eyes widen slightly, and he nods in a world-savvy fashion that fools no one.

“Oh, _that_.” He looks at Roberta with a smile and shrugs. “I honestly have no idea.”

Gareth sputters, drops of wine landing everywhere - mostly all over Sid.

“Ya said it was yer idea,” he grumbles.

“Well, yes, and I sort of know the basics. But, when it comes to specifics, that’s more Bobby’s area.” His wife blushes a bit when all stares are suddenly pinned on her. She clears her throat before talking.

“I, we, huh, find someone at the village who will be, huh, discreet,” she stutters.

“And who doesn’t mind dragons,” is Richard’s unhelpful insight.

“Yeah, that’s actually a big issue. It tends to scare people off.” 

Sid snorts at that before reaching for an unopened bottle of wine. Under his breath, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously sarcastic.

“And you just don’t mind?” Frankly, that is what has Galavant still on edge, even though it seems _evident_. He can kind of get why Roberta would be into this - alright, he’s pretty sure he’d also be totally on board with it, were he in her place. Which makes him think, maybe he could talk it out with Izzy—

“Don’t even think about it, _Gary_.”

Huh. It’s kind of creepy how they can sometimes read each other’s thoughts.

Whatever. The thing is, he isn’t quite clear on what exactly Richard’s getting out of this. Unless he goes with Sid’s earlier idea, that is.

“Why would I mind? It’s not like she’s at it every other day. We still have plenty of time to do fun stuff.”

Honestly, Gal doesn’t even want to hear about what his friend considers ‘fun stuff’.

“But she’s, you know,” Sid directs a guilty look at Roberta, who just shrugs, having apparently resigned herself to be talked about as if she wasn’t there. “She’s sleeping with another guy!”

The lady of the house snorts. “Not a lot of sleeping going on, believe me,” she mutters. Out of the corner of his eye, Gal is pretty sure he sees Izzy bump fists with her.

“Well, yes, that’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?” Richard sounds, for once, almost serious and adult. Then, of course, he screws it up. “It’s not like I’m the one planting the cakes either, and she’s eating them. Now that I think about it, all of you are.” He manages to sound suspicious and to almost derail the conversation, but his audience is prepared.

“So, yer comparing sex with baking cakes. Just great.” 

The king looks scandalized. “That’s how you make them?”

On the other side of the table, Izzy lets out a nervous laugh and pointedly avoids meeting Gal’s eye. 

Alright: that probably explains the breakfast debacle of last week.

“Look, Rich: we’re not talking about cakes or pies _or_ any other food here, alright? We’re just saying, it’s not the same. You can’t just let someone else have sex for you, right?”

By the look on his face, Richard most definitely doesn’t agree with that. 

Letting out an exasperated breath, Gal tries it again. “So, you’re saying you’re delegating sex, is that it?” If Richard’s answer is affirmative, which it’s probably going to be, he’s more than ready to punch him. Or himself. Most likely himself: after all, he’s the one who’s asked.

“Well, I can’t be expected to do everything, now, can I? Like, I’m already planting things, and I take care of Tad Cooper, and I’ve been working on my jokes. They’re hilarious now.”

“No they’re not,” is Roberta’s barely mouthed answer to that. It makes Richard glare.

“That’s not the point. The point is—” To be honest, Gal is starting not to see the point himself. That is: it is still weird, but they both seem to be content with their arrangement, happy with each other. So he sighs and shakes his head. “Alright. Just— If it works for you, I guess, it’s fine.” He sees Roberta smile at him, nod her head. As if she knew he’d eventually get it: it just needed to get into his extremely thick skull, apparently.

Richard looks pretty satisfied. Also, even if Gareth still has murder in his eyes, it’s gone back to his normal levels, so he guesses things are looking up on that front too. 

“The thing is,” Richard intervenes after a comfortable silence, “Bobby and I— We love each other. And it all works out for us.”

“I wouldn’t change us for anything,” she agrees. Something in Gal’s chest clenches a little bit, and he searches for Izzy’s gaze. His wife throws a smile back at him.

“I guess I can see that,” he agrees.

So there’s that. They’re mostly mulling it over quietly when Richard intervenes one last time. “Besides, come on: we’re only talking about sex. I’ve had plenty of it, and I can tell you: it’s most definitely overrated.”

There are a few groans all around the table, but no one bothers to contradict him on that.

***

“So, it’s back to normal.”

Gal nods before helping her secure their luggage to the horses, and Izzy sighs. It’s almost a shame, going back home. No that she hasn’t missed her very loud, sometimes leaking six-month-old son, of course. But it has been nice, not having to get up every two hours. Also, having some time for themselves does feel like a novelty. No wonder her parents had been so eager to send her off to save their kingdom that one time. Dungeon or no dungeon, alone time is something to treasure.

As they ride back to the village where they’ll take the main road, she mulls over some of these days’ events.

“You know,” she tells Gal, “maybe we’ve been going about this the wrong way. I mean, Richard and Roberta seem to be— happy. Content. Maybe there’s a lesson there, don’t you think?”

Galavant seems to think his answer over for a bit.

“You mean we should all be taking up lovers?”

If she weren’t too far away to do it safely right now, she’d be hitting him. He can probably see it in her eyes, because he laughs.

“That’s not it, and you know it.” For now, she mentally adds. “What I mean is, they’re supposed to be King and Queen. Like, haughty, important: he’s got the sword _and_ the dragon. Everybody sort of expected them to be ruling over us all, after the whole Wormwood thing and the war and all that. Yet they’re sort of— just there, I guess _._ ”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, nothing’s going exactly how it was planned, right? Not for them, at least; yet they’re not _bothered_ by it.” She breathes in deeply, slows her mare down to look Gal in the eye. “Look, I know we said seven—”

“Three.”

“—children. And I know the house at the beach was supposed to be our dream, the happy ending we needed, but— You suck at poetry.”

“Your cooking’s awful.”

“I don’t want any more children.”

“I sort of miss having people around.”

They smile at each other, first shyly. Then it becomes a full-on grin.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with being an only child, Izzy. You and I both turned up just fine, right? And, maybe we can go visit your parents every once in a while.”

“Live in the castle.”

“Until Juan is a bit older, at least. Then, perhaps we can think about taking him with us. Travelling around. I’ve heard the Mountains of Doom are quite beautiful in winter.”

She smiles.

“Yeah. We can definitely do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I once saw someone somewhere talking about Richard being on the ace spectrum, and it just made perfect sense. So I took the idea and ran with it, and I tried to sort of imagine what life would be like for him and Bobby without deviating (too much) from canon.  
> In my mind, Rich would end up coming to terms with it, mostly because he's matured a lot through the show, and because he has Roberta (who is way underdeveloped but has a couple of sensible badass moments), but I don't think it'd be easy for him to tell others at first. Mainly Gareth, who is like the prototype of strong and silent manliness and who I still think Richard is a bit scared of disappointing (even though he's a cuddly bear inside and loves Rich very very much).  
> I believe that Gareth still feels guilty about the whole betraying his best friend stunt he pulled, which in my head makes him likely to snap at him at the mere thought of Richard not living up to king's standards (just because that'd mean Gareth is taking off and leaving his defenseless friend behind). Also, I don't believe he'd take very well to Roberta, being as overprotective as he is of Richard. She's sort of displacing him, even if he started that himself, and nobody likes that.  
> I also don't think Izzy and Gal are cut out for the life they planned, but they're both headstrong and it'll probably take them a while to accept that and try and find solutions.  
> Finally, for those of you wondering: yep, Sid and Gareth are definitely together. That's my version and I'm sticking to it.


End file.
